


Secrets and Truth

by RaxaHuracan



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Spoilers, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1844050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaxaHuracan/pseuds/RaxaHuracan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since her induction into the guild, Elani and Brynjolf have been dancing around a flirtation that both were content to let develop more before acting - until Karliah resurfaces and Mercer needs Elani for backup. As the dragonborn sets out to help her guildmaster hunt down a traitor, Brynjolf can't quite shake the dread pooling in his stomach.</p><p>A re-imagining of the center of the Thieves Guild storyline, but still mostly true to the original quests. It goes without saying that there are spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, so every mistake is my own. None of these characters are mine except the dragonborn (kind of...but not really Bethesda please don't sue me).

“Brynjolf.” At the sound of his name, he looked up with a slight smile.

“Lass,” he greeted in response. “Leaving again – and so soon?” In truth, he’d wanted to see her before she ran off again. She’d smiled at him upon entering the cistern, but continued without stopping to report to Mercer. Brynjolf had watched with a sinking feeling as Mercer got more and more agitated throughout the conversation, with the lass’s expression sliding from neutral to surprised to grim. Vipir slid next to him with all the silence a master pickpocket can possess. He was unusually solemn.

“I take it Elani got Gulum-Ei to talk some sense?” He felt more than saw Vipir’s hesitation, and turned to find his friend frowning at him.

“Bryn…” he started, unsure, before continuing. “It’s Karliah. She’s back, and I think she wants Mercer’s head.”

“Shor’s teeth.” Like most of the other members, Brynjolf hadn’t joined the Thieves Guild until a few years after Gallus’s murder. The only person who had definitely known Gallus and Karliah was Mercer, and while Brynjolf suspected that Delvin, Vex, Vekel, and Dirge had all been members back then, he’d never gotten around to asking for sure. But even though they didn’t have first-hand experience, every guild member knew about Karliah and her betrayal. For her name to come up now…Brynjolf shook his head, the sinking feeling from earlier only intensifying. He could see Mercer send Elani to Tonilia for an equipment upgrade and start gathering his own weapons and supplies. It was clear that Frey wanted to take Elani with him to hunt down Karliah, which made Brynjolf frown. Mercer had been known to take Guild novices with him on advanced jobs before – the sneaky bastard had an uncanny ability to get out of tight scrapes, and used that luck/confidence/whatever-it-was as an excuse to give rookies some on-the-job training. Brynjolf himself had benefitted from that particular brand of cockiness, but this wasn’t a tricky job infiltrating a Jarl’s bedroom or fishing an amulet from around a guard’s neck. To bring the lass into a barrow on the trail of a master thief and cold-blooded murderer? Brynjolf trusted Elani’s skills and he trusted Mercer to watch her back, but a voice in the darkest and coldest corner of his mind whispered that this was all going to go horribly wrong. 

He turned away from Vipir and walked into the Ragged Flagon proper without saying goodbye, but he needed to put some distance between himself and Mercer. The man was his mentor and guildmaster, but right now he was deliberately endangering Elani. Brynjolf glowered and made his way to one of the alcoves next to the tavern’s entrance. He sat down on top of a dusty crate and sighed, rubbing his eyes so hard he left color imprints on his vision.

He was worried about the lass, that much was obvious. Enough time had passed that he could be honest with himself: he cared about her. Much more than he’d expected, and much faster. Just a few weeks ago she’d been the whip-smart stranger who saw through an idiot guard’s greed and then helped him frame Brand-Shei with very few questions asked. In all honesty, Brynjolf hadn’t really needed the extra pair of hands – you don’t become second-in-command of the Thieves Guild for nothing, after all. It had just been a spur-of-the-moment decision, a way to test her skills and her commitment by showing the ugly side of the business first, a way to give her a taste of the excitement that can only be felt by stealing in a crowded marketplace in broad daylight. It was only after she’d officially joined that he found out she’d specifically come to Riften to look for the Thieves Guild, _and_ that she’d managed to sweet talk Maul into giving her all the information she needed without paying a single septim (he learned that part from Dirge, who still hasn’t let his brother forget the Bosmer’s silver tongue). Innocent flirtation had slowly morphed into something a bit less innocent, and a tension had been rising between them that Brynjolf had been content to let linger for a mite longer before doing anything about it.

“Bryn.” He looked up again, catching Elani’s eyes. She was leaning against the entrance to the alcove he was still sitting in, watching him with a mixture of affection and concern. He must have been musing more than he’d thought. Her hood was down, and the light from the Ragged Flagon’s cookfire reflected off her angular elven features, throwing them into stark relief and making her face even more striking. He was struck suddenly – not for the first time – by her beauty.

“Sorry, lass. A lot on my mind.” She laughed once, softly, more a breath than anything else.

“I wanted to say goodbye before I left,” she started. “I…” at this, she looked away briefly and fiddled with a buckle on her newly upgraded cuirass. “I’m heading out to meet Mercer up at Snow Veil Sanctum, north of Windhelm. We’re going after –”

“Karliah,” Brynjolf finished for her, shutting his eyes against the confirmation. He heard her shift, and then felt her sit down on the crate next to him. Thanks to the wall of their little nook, they actually had some modicum of privacy – rare down here.

“Brynjolf...” she began, but paused. He opened his eyes to see that she’d stretched her hand out halfway to his face, but it too had stopped and was frozen briefly in the space between them before she brought it back to her lap.

“Lass, you need to be careful. I – you need to come back to the Flagon after this. Can’t have you getting lost in the snow, now.” There was a desperation cracking through his voice that made the attempt at humor fall flat.

“Worried about me, are you?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Suddenly any control he'd once had evaporated. Without warning he leaned in and kissed her, hard and fast with worry and fear and other pent-up emotions that had been building since he first saw her in The Bee and Barb. He pulled away and searched her face, his hand resting on her cheek and his thumb mindlessly stroking her temple. She only faltered a moment, and then her hand was tangled in his hair and she was kissing him back, full of passion and tension and her own adrenaline for the upcoming job. She nipped his bottom lip and he opened to her, taking his time being on the receiving end before repaying the favor. With each languid slide of his tongue in her mouth, the kiss lost some of its desperation and he began to relax, letting the sensation overpower the fear for her safety still coiling in the back of his mind. Eventually he broke the kiss but didn’t move away and they sat there with their foreheads touching for another minute. 

“I need you to be careful,” he whispered. She pressed her lips to his once more, and he could feel her slight smile. Then she pulled away and rummaged in her pack before turning back to him and hanging an amulet of Kynareth around his neck. It hummed pleasantly against his skin, and he felt somehow stronger. She looked at her handiwork with a quiet smile and then gazed at his face, as if she were attempting to memorize his features before the long journey ahead. For all he knew, she was doing just that.

“I promise I’ll come back,” she said, letting her thumbs follow his cheekbones in soothing strokes. “That amulet is a loan, and I fully intend to take it back.” At this she smirked and pulled away, but he followed her up and kissed her one more time.

“I look forward to it,” he smirked himself, and stood with arms crossed at the entrance to the alcove as she walked back towards the cistern, and her job with Mercer.


	2. Chapter 2

In the week that followed, Brynjolf threw himself into managing the guild. He collected outstanding debts, ran interference with Maven, and maintained a steady flow of contracts and assignments. He’d hoped that the work would keep his mind off the absences in the guild, but it was a pipe dream. Mercer, he knew, could take care of himself – the man always did have ridiculous luck, and Brynjolf had seen first hand the efficiency with which he could dispatch an opponent – but Elani was another matter. She had her own streak of good luck, and Brynjolf knew the lass could take care of herself in a fight, knew she was sharp with a bow and quick with a knife, knew she had a decent if basic control of the arcane if it came down to that. But the barrows of his Nord ancestors were dangerous places, full of traps and – if rumors were true – undead draugr. And to have to fight your way through a barrow and _then_ face off against Karliah? He didn’t like those odds.

Delvin and Vex had tried to help in their own ways, trying to distract him by offering jobs in other hold capitals. But Brynjolf turned them down, mumbling some line about how the guild wouldn’t run itself in Mercer’s absence. Vex had pursed her lips at him and Del had scowled into his ale, but neither had called him on the obvious deflection. They were all worried, about Mercer and the lass but also about what it meant for the guild with Karliah resurfacing after all this time. None of them wanted to leave Riften, for fear they wouldn’t be present when their friends returned.

Brynjolf was leaning over the guildmaster’s desk, checking over the ledger, when he heard the trap door open and footsteps climb down the ladder into the cistern. At first he thought nothing of it – after all, that was the best way into and out of the Ragged Flagon and quite a few people had business to attend to out in Riften. But as the footsteps drew closer, silence descended in the hall. The squeak of the grindstone stopped, arrows stopped pounding into the practice dummy – even the semi-continuous dripping of the cistern itself seemed to quiet. Because of the silence, the footsteps echoed louder than they should have. With each step, the tension mounted between his shoulder blades.

He straightened up to see Mercer standing in front of the desk, arms crossed over his chest and hip cocked. Mercer – and no one else. Brynjolf felt his mouth go dry.

“Good to be back!” Mercer exclaimed, seemingly unaware of the tension in the cistern. Over his shoulder, Brynjolf could see that Delvin and Vex had come in from the front of the Flagon, their faces somber. He looked back at Mercer, who had blithely continued as if nothing was wrong. “…good to see this place so well managed in my absence. You’ll definitely be a great successor when I retire. Let me get behind the desk, will you? I need to catalogue some of these babies.” Numbly, Brynjolf walked around the desk, effectively switching places with Mercer, who was still talking. “Gods, look at these jewels! I don’t know why we don’t hit tombs more often, the burial urns _alone_ were filled with enough shiny objects to get us through _years_ of difficulty.” He dropped a handful of flawless rubies and gold necklaces onto the desk. “And check out this axe! Hundreds of years locked underground and it still has an edge that can slice through a draugr as if it were a baked potato.”

“Mercer.” His voice was tight, strange to his own ears. Only years of training and speechcraft let him keep his composure – barely. Mercer set the axe down on top of the ledger and stopped talking. He looked up at Brynjolf with an unreadable expression, but remained silent. Was he waiting for Brynjolf to actually ask the question? “Mercer, where’s –” his throat closed around the name. “Where’s the lass?”

“Bryn,” Mercer started, quietly. He looked down, his expression shadowed and somber. He made eye contact again. “I’m sorry, Brynjolf. There was nothing I could do.” A beat passed, then two. The silence changed from tense to defeated. Brynjolf latched onto the remnants of his composure through a mixture of shock and desperation. It wasn’t possible, was it? This couldn’t be happening. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, but Mercer opened his mouth again and somehow Brynjolf could hear the words over the rushing of his own blood.

“It was horrible – like Gallus all over again. I couldn’t stop Karliah, and I couldn’t save the girl. We’d been doing so well too, real teamwork you know? I cut down a few draugr when they overpowered her, she’d take one out right as it found an opening in my defense – there were a few times I thought the last thing I’d see would be those creepy glowing eyes when suddenly an arrow came out of nowhere and the thing just collapsed. And at one point – gods, I was such an asshole, so busy telling her not to trip into a bone chime that I ran smack into one myself and woke up an entire room full of undead bastards. Girl didn’t even bat an eye, just helped me take them out and then gave me one of those speaking looks. Then, right near the end – this is weird, I still don’t know what to make of it – we’d dispatched this whole chamber full of really strong draugr who kept, I don’t know, shouting or something and throwing us backwards, when she cocked her head as if she could hear something calling to her. I have no idea what it was, I certainly didn’t hear anything. When I asked her about it she just shook her head and ignored me, followed whatever she thought she heard to one of those big Nord walls with the angular script that you see sometimes. She got right up to it, her nose was just inches away from the carvings. There was this strange barely-there flash of color, and then she took a deep breath and seemed to snap out of it before we continued on towards the inner sanctum.”

“I didn’t ask about what happened,” Brynjolf interjected, trying to get Mercer to shut up but the bastard either didn’t catch it or purposefully ignored him. Was he enjoying telling this story? There was no reason for Brynjolf to doubt Mercer’s sincerity, but for someone who just lost a talented young member the guildmaster was being weirdly glib.

“Gods, it was – Bryn, I can’t even begin to describe how awful it was to survive all of the traps and the skeevers and the draugr and then all of the sudden…” Brynjolf flinched at the nickname and closed his eyes against the images that Mercer’s words were conjuring. He could feel a tendon flutter in his clenched jaw. His knuckles were aching white against his hips.

“The girl had gone through the puzzle door first, and everything was silent until she just flinched and dropped to her knees before falling sideways onto the ground. An arrow – gods, I was having flashbacks to Gallus – was just protruding through the gap in her collarbone, right at the base of her throat. It must have missed her spine, though, because she didn’t die right away. She was just looking at me, eyes wide and in shock and very much aware…”

“Mercer. Stop. By the Nine…”

“I was going to her when Karliah appeared from out of nowhere. It was all I could do to fend her off. I got in a few good hits with my blade, wounded her enough that she decided to run instead of staying to finish the fight. I guess she decided one casualty was enough. She’d nicked me with a poisoned dagger during our fight and my vision was blurring around the edges, but I turned back to the girl. She was making these horrible gurgling sounds, choking around the arrowhead in her throat. She’d coughed up some blood, and there were tears running down her cheeks, though from pain or regret or some combination of the two I’ll never know. And then she just faded away. I guess Karliah must have shown some mercy to Gallus by killing him instantly because this…it’s not how I want to die, Bryn, I’ll tell you that.”

Silence fell. Brynjolf swallowed against the acrid taste of bile in the back of his throat.

“I only wish I could have done something to ease the way –”

“Shor’s bones, Mercer, stop.” He snapped. He was speechless. Mercer Frey was his friend, his mentor, his leader. To be so cold, so blunt in the retelling…Brynjolf searched Mercer’s face but couldn’t read the expression. He shook his head, his voice quiet and raw. “I never knew you to be cruel.” Mercer maintained eye contact, didn’t flinch, didn’t give any indication that he regretted throwing salt in the wound. He hadn’t even said her _name_ when he described the way she suffered…Brynjolf stopped that line of thought with a wrench and broke eye contact with Mercer. He turned and walked away, studiously avoiding Vex and Delvin’s gaze as he passed between them and into the Ragged Flagon. He needed space, and time to think. He needed solitude before he could unleash the grief threatening to choke him. Later, when he finally let himself reflect on this moment, Brynjolf would say that the emotion he couldn’t place in Mercer’s expression was the well-hidden glimmer of satisfaction, the hint of a smirk under the affected glower.

But for now – for now, he let himself recall the deep amber glow of her skin in the light of the cookfire, the exotic sharp angles to her features that were so different from his own, the way she threw her head back when she laughed, how she carried around a gold and emerald circlet specifically for when she addressed the Jarl, how she listened, rapt, to the other members tell elaborate and ridiculous stories of their own exploits, or the spirits inside barrows, or the mysterious dragonborn. How her lips felt against his. The way she tasted of Delvin’s favorite mead and the sharp tang of a homemade health potion. The way she smelled of mountain flower and cookfire smoke and something woodsy and wild.

He dropped heavily onto his knees, his spine curling forward and his hands clenched on top of his thighs. He didn’t know where he was exactly, just that he was outside Riften and alone. He pulled the amulet she’d given him out from where he’d tucked it beneath his cuirass and gripped it like a life support. As the amulet’s quiet hum was drowned out by his own shaking, he finally released the tight hold he’d kept on his emotions, taking advantage of the privacy he’d never be able to get inside the guild headquarters. The rushing blood in his ears became a litany – _Elani Elani Elani._ He didn’t know how much time passed. A quiet breeze caressed his hair, soothing him in a way that the guild couldn’t. He closed his eyes, turned his face into the wind, and timed his breath to the humming of Kyne’s amulet.


	3. Chapter 3

_Pain. Confusion. Cold. Mercer was advancing, Karliah had disappeared. Mercer. Mercer Frey had betrayed her? Her vision was playing tricks on her, fading in and out, hidden in shadow. She couldn’t move. Paralyzed. Her breathing quickened. She drew in her_ thu’um _to Shout him away but her lips wouldn’t open past a shivering breath, her tongue heavy in her mouth. Mercer was standing over her now, sneering. The expression fit him._

_“How interesting. It appears Gallus’s history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place.”_

_Elani let out the rest of her thwarted_ thu’um _in a shuddering sigh. This was her confirmation: Mercer had betrayed her, and apparently the entire guild. He’d been spinning stories about his former partner and guildmaster, and they’d all fallen for it. She’d fallen for it. Her throat felt tight, as if the dragon blood was angry her Shout couldn’t be released. She’d never wished for Lydia’s presence so ardently in all the time they’d travelled together._

_“But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you.”_

_She hated this man. She hated him so strongly that she could choke on it. He drew his weapons._

_“Farewell. I’ll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards.” Unhurried, he strolled forward and stood over her in such a way that she couldn’t see his face, but it didn’t matter – she wasn’t thinking about Mercer anymore. She felt hot tears well up as the traitor’s words conjured up images of Brynjolf: the flame of his hair, the glint of his eyes, the lilt of his voice. They had only just acted on the mounting pull between them; if she tried hard enough, she imagined she could still taste him. She found herself hoping – not for survival nor for Mercer’s demise, but rather that when Mercer Frey told his lies to the guild, to Brynjolf, he would not be cruel._

_Mercer finally drew his weapons back for the killing blow. As she watched the arc of his blade, she fiercely wished that she could see the face of the man who would kill her. The shadows parted for the big dwarven blade, and then –_

Gasping, Elani shot up in bed, her eyes darting around all corners of the room until she finally was able to recognize her surroundings. The small room, bedside table, ill-fitting door…she was back at The Frozen Hearth in Winterhold. She had given Calcelmo’s notes to Enthir and the scholar had translated Gallus’s journal…she’d wanted to press on, wanted to finally return to Riften and the guild but Lydia had insisted she sleep at the inn. Even Karliah looked skeptical when Elani had argued against it. More than anything else, Karliah’s agreement made Elani listen to her housecarl.

The guards hadn’t yet changed shifts when she looked out the window – she recognized the gait of the guard who’d commented on her alchemy abilities as he patrolled next to the Jarl’s longhouse. That meant she’d been asleep for two hours at the most, but the aches in her joints and the disorientation that still clung to her spoke of even less sleep than that. Lydia meant well, but Elani had been avoiding sleep for a reason. She knew in her gut that these persistant nightmares wouldn’t go away until Mercer Frey was dead. Absently flexing her hand, she realized that in her sleep she had grabbed her dagger from beneath her pillow and was still clutching it, white-knuckled. Her left hand was sparking, a charged lightning bolt dancing along her fingers and waiting to be released. She sighed, replaced the dagger, and dissipated the spell, but she continued letting little currents of electricity flow along her hand. Over the past week she’d discovered that the little sparks shocked her skin enough to fight off sleep when the exhaustion threatened to consume her. Without discharging a spell, the electricity used up little concentration and even less mana, and sometimes in the lonely hours of the night she made miniature lightning storms flash between her palms. Lydia would wake up from those nights well-rested and fuming, demanding to know why Elani hadn’t woken her up for the watch. She would watch the lightning play between her thane’s fingers and frown, a solemn expression that looked out of place on the housecarl’s usually upbeat countenance. As much as the concern was currently counterproductive to getting back to the guild, Elani found herself growing all the more fond of Lydia for it. It really wasn’t Lydia’s fault, after all. Elani cast some magelight and then walked over to the basin that had been placed on a table in the far corner of the room. She could barely recognize her own reflection – all dark circles and sunken hollows in an unnaturally pale face. Even her eyes looked dull and tired. She splashed some water on her face and neck and then sat cross-legged on top of the covers.

Elani sighed. She really had been pushing herself too hard. Ever since Snow Veil Sanctum she’d been racing to find the information they needed and then get back to the guild, to Bryn. It felt wrong to be disconnected from them like this, as if a part of her had been cast away. The only things keeping her going through the entire ordeal were health and stamina potions, sparks, and the all-consuming need to return to the cistern. Elani shifted and the movement tugged on the still-healing wound in her abdomen where Mercer had stabbed her, her only concessions to the pain a sharp intake of breath and a quiet groan. Karliah’s paralytic had saved her life, but the delay in drinking healing potions and more importantly in casting restoration spells had cost her. Magic was a wonderful thing, but wait too long and a basic healing spell could only do so much. The spells and potions cleared away the possibility of infection and knit together some of the deepest parts of the wound, but the wait coupled with the enchantments on Mercer’s blade meant she had been pushing herself on a vicious injury. She prodded the scar tissue gingerly. Now that some time had passed, the pain was much less intense – she could fight more or less uninhibited, with enough potions, and it had finally stopped periodically oozing blood – but it was still present, a constant reminder of betrayal.

The trip from Winterhold to Markarth and back had taken such a relatively short amount of time because Elani had opted to take a carriage between the two cities – partly because of the speed but mostly because as hard as she pushed herself, she wasn’t so foolish as to think she could make good time on foot. At first light, she and Lydia would ride the carriage to Windhelm but travel from there using a combination of horseback and hiking. Elani was sure that Mercer had no idea she’d survived, but even so she didn’t want to announce her return to Riften. She would climb the stairs from the docks and enter the city proper through Honeyside, where she could store some newly acquired valuables and then drop down onto the canal level without going through the market. She smiled to herself, a rueful quirk of lips. If there was one thing betrayal was good for, it was turning caution into paranoia.

Markarth had been an ordeal. Luckily she had already been to the city, and so was aware of its particular quirks and could avoid the right people. A quick chat with the redguard who ran the jewelry stall gave Elani a ring for Calcelmo and the perfect excuse to meet with the court wizard. The next hour was a blur of frostbite spiders and stamina potions, and she was so off her game that she didn’t even realize Calcelmo’s laboratory was restricted until she tried to speak with Lydia and got an abrupt hiss of “you aren’t supposed to be here.” After leaving Lydia in the main hall of Understone Keep, Elani got her adrenaline pumping and regained some mental clarity by picking locks in the Dwemer Museum under the guards’ noses, nicking a few rare books and a stone of Barenziah in the process. She slipped back through the door to Calcelmo’s laboratory, muttering under her breath about ridiculous Nords and that if the wizard really wanted privacy he shouldn’t use the same key to get in as the museum.

The journey through the laboratory was far and away the most difficult endeavor she’d ever done as a thief. The excellent Dwemer craftsmanship meant that there were very few shadowed corners to hide in, and the place was absolutely crawling with guards. On top of the already unfavorable conditions, she had pressed on to Markarth so quickly that her wound was still mostly raw and open, weeping into bandages wrapped tight across her middle. Every breath brought fresh agony and her movements were stiff, making detection all the more likely. She felt a small twinge of guilt at the carnage she’d caused by setting off traps – _bad for business_ whispered a voice in her head – but without invisibility potions and her usual fluidity of movement she would never have made it to her goal without killing. She liked Calcelmo – he was intelligent and passionate, lacking the acerbic scorn of some other court wizards she’d had dealings with – but the man needed to try and disarm some of the dwarves’ traps before he sent patrols of clueless guards to traipse around.

Elani stretched, doing her best to ignore the pulling in her abdomen. The first soft rays of light were filtering in through the window, so she got up off the bed and fixed up her pack. She went to the room next door and woke Lydia, before going back to the main hall of the inn and ordering a modest breakfast for herself and her companion. Karliah had gone ahead to Riften – one less variable to worry about for now. Lydia came out when she finished getting ready and the two women ate quickly before shouldering their packs and exiting the inn. Elani took in a deep breath of frostbitten air, letting the cold rouse her mind from its earlier reflections, when something gave her pause. A shift in the air, a barely-there sound that rumbled through her aching bones.

“Please, gods, let it pass…” She only realized she said the prayer outloud when Lydia turned towards her, confused.

“My Thane?” She began, but then the dragon roared again and closer, and her eyes cleared in recognition. Elani drew her bow and waited, breathing out to steady herself. She loosed the arrow as soon as she saw the beast, before any of the hold guards even called out an alarm. The dragon seemed to stagger mid-air thanks to the effects of the poison she’d used on the arrow, and as a result it landed much less gracefully than others that she’d fought – even so, the poison hadn’t done too much extra damage and the scaly bastard managed to swat her aside with its left foreleg, sending her into one of the ruined buildings next to the road. She took a moment to breathe through the white-hot pain lancing through Mercer’s parting gift, and only once it eased slightly did she realize that she’d have some lovely gashes to show for the fight. Gritting her teeth, she drank down a healing potion and ran back towards the beast, shooting sparks from one hand and bearing down with an enchanted axe with the other. A guard’s arrow sunk into the creature’s eye, and in its pain and fury it could not defend itself from Elani’s deathblow. The feeling of absorbing a dragon soul had always been a heady one, full of power and limitless energy and the impression of wings, but this time was more magnificent than any before it. For the first time in just over a week, Elani felt no pain. The feeling lasted only briefly, and the sensation of the recent clawmarks and reopened wound was so great that Elani’s knees gave out. She did her best to keep the pain out of her face, but Lydia was not as easily fooled as the citizens of Winterhold. Before she could suggest resting or re-wrapping bandages, Elani shook her head and used her axe as a prop to help her stand.

“My Thane, you really must rest.” Lydia had apparently decided not to take the hint.

“I said we leave at dawn, and a dragon isn’t going to change that,” Elani replied, voice tight from the pain. She frowned and cast a healing spell, sighing quietly as it dulled the edge.

“But I really must insist –”

“Lydia.”

“ _Please_ , Elani.” The elf stopped and rubbed a hand over her face. Lydia was fond of propriety and as such only ever referred to Elani as “Thane,” even though the difference in age between them was negligible. For Lydia to resort to her first name…Elani turned back to Lydia and felt her face soften, smiling with her eyes if not her mouth.

“Lydia, I know you’re worried and I’m sorry. But I have to get back to Riften – you know that.” Lydia opened her mouth as if to answer, but Elani cut her off. “We’re riding the carriage to Windhelm, remember? I’ll have plenty of time to rest on the journey.” Lydia pursed her lips but let the issue drop, following Elani to the edge of town and the carriage that stood waiting. Walking towards the carriage, Elani’s thoughts centered on the guild and Brynjolf. She ached to think of what Mercer must have said, and whether or not he’d done anything to the remaining guild members. She hoped she wasn’t too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit to be posted. This chapter is a little exposition-heavy, but more action is coming soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY, EVERYONE. I am the worst. I recently started playing Skyrim again after a long hiatus and am finally getting around to finishing this story. I promise I won't stop updating until it's finished!! Sorry for leaving you hanging!
> 
>  
> 
> As always, The Elder Scrolls, Skyrim, and the characters aren't mine, I just like to think they are.

“Haaaah!” The dummy rattled under the force of the blow, his ebony sword cutting a deep gouge in the chest area. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Brynjolf heard two sets of footsteps walking quickly down the corridor from the cistern into the practice room – unusual, since his guildmates had taken to letting him work off steam alone recently. He tried not to dwell on why they had been affording him the privacy, and instead turned towards the entrance where Vex and Delvin were just entering. They hesitated, glancing at each other as if not sure where to start.

“Yes?” Brynjolf prodded. He hated that he was being so short with them – Del and Vex were two of his oldest and closest friends, but he was more than a little miffed that they were intruding without anything important to say. He had been working on his fighting skills a lot lately, more than a thief probably should. The exertion allowed him to focus his mind completely on the heft of his sword, the shift of his muscles. Allowed him to stop thinking about Elani, even for a brief moment. And if he thought about volunteering for completely suicidal jobs, well – he hadn’t acted on those impulses yet, and no one had to know. If it played out that way, he would do his best to take as many enemies down with him.

Delvin looked at Vex again, but clearly whatever it was needed to be dealt with immediately because he steeled himself and met Brynjolf’s eyes.

“Bryn, there’s someone in the Flagon. Thieves Guild armor, but she’s not approaching. Seems to be waiting for someone. It’s too dark to tell, but…” he paused, expressions of pain and rage chasing themselves across his face.

“We think it’s Karliah,” Vex finished. Brynjolf drew a sharp breath through his nose, the blood in his veins turning to ice. He nodded, and the three of them walked back into the cistern and past the beds to form a wall in front of the entrance to the Ragged Flagon. The chamber was silent, the other members of the guild readying their weapons and waiting for some kind of signal from their leaders. Brynjolf hadn’t even sheathed his sword from his earlier practice, but brought it up in a ready stance as Delvin and Vex unsheathed their own weapons.

Time slid by, counted out by the dripping ceiling and their own anxious breaths. Finally, the door in front of them opened, and through it walked two figures in Thieves Guild armor, their hoods fully drawn over their faces. The first walked forward cautiously, but with purpose. When she came close enough, he could confirm that it was in fact Karliah – the Dark Elf’s face was determined but her eyes held a hint of uncertainty, shifting back and forth between the three of them. The second figure hesitated, but followed Karliah. She was clearly female, and small, but she stayed behind the Dunmer so her face was still fully in shadow. She moved stiffly, and seemed to take care in each step.

“You better have a damn good reason to be here with that murderer,” Brynjolf began, addressing the shadowed girl. He tried to think of who it could be, which member of the guild was unaccounted for, but in the end it didn’t matter – if she was Karliah’s ally, he would gut her until she choked on it.

“Please,” Karliah spoke quietly, but firmly. The sound of it hurt, confirming that she was flesh and blood instead of a conjuration of his imagination sent to haunt him. “Lower your weapons so we can speak. I have proof that you’ve all been misled!” Brynjolf pressed his lips tightly together against the impotent rage swirling inside him, and exchanged quick glances with Vex and Delvin. They nodded, and all three sheathed their blades.

“No tricks, Karliah, or I’ll cut you down where you stand.” The stranger seemed to flinch slightly, but neither she nor Karliah had drawn a weapon. Karliah nodded, putting her hands in front of her as if to placate him. “Now what’s this so-called proof you speak of?”

She turned to the stranger, who reached her hand into one of the many secret compartments in her armor and pulled out a small, bound book.

“I have Gallus’s journal. I think you’ll find its contents disturbing.”

“Let me see.” Karliah took several cautious steps towards him, holding the journal out. He took it, sparing both her and her companion one last glance before he lowered his eyes to the pages. He read over the pages of what were clearly translated notes without comprehending, and had to stop and start again from the beginning to process what was written. Mercer was stealing from the guild? “No, it…” he breathed out. “It can’t be.” He put the journal down, finding his voice. “This can’t be true. I’ve known Mercer too long.” Karliah shook her head.

“It’s true, Brynjolf. Every word. Mercer’s been stealing from the Guild for years, right under your noses.” Her tone, the slight derision she couldn’t quite mask, broke the spell.

“This journal is indecipherable. You could have written anything you wanted and passed it off for a translation.”

“Brynjolf –”

“No, Karliah.” He slashed his hand through the air, punctuating the message. “I will not stand here and allow the elf who murdered our former guildmaster, who murdered –” his throat closed around the name again, keeping him from speaking it aloud. Karliah’s eyes seemed to light in some kind of understanding that he couldn’t fathom, while her companion made an aborted move forward. He ignored it and barrelled on, his voice getting louder and stronger the more he spoke. “I cannot let you attempt to slander our current guildmaster, not after everything you’ve done. That you could even _think_ you would be welcome, that you had the unbelievable nerve to step foot down here and start spinning ridiculous stories about –”

“Brynjolf.” He stopped, cut off mid-sentence. That voice – it was quiet, strained with exhaustion and something else he couldn’t place, but he would have recognized it anywhere. It was a voice that had been singing to him in his dreams, that he never thought he would hear again. The girl took a step forward, and then another, walking into the light. “Brynjolf, she’s telling the truth. Mercer betrayed us.” Brynjolf felt his breath catch as Elani pulled her hood down. She was pale – almost as pale as he was, with sunken eyes ringed by dark circles. Her face was gaunt and strained, but it was her. She was alive. She was alive? How – but then if she was alive what was the story Mercer had told? Why was she with Karliah? He realized that quite a few seconds passed in complete silence as he stared at Elani – Elani, his Elani, his, she was here, _she was alive_ – the disparate puzzle pieces clicking together even as they overwhelmed him. Karliah’s assertion, the journal, even Mercer’s strange behavior when he returned from the barrow. Elani was staring back, searching his face, such a powerful combination of emotions coloring her expression that he couldn’t identify any single one.

Barely taking his eyes off her, he shook his head minutely to clear it. He needed to regain control – there were important issues to take care of that eclipsed the reunion he hadn’t thought to hope for. Finding his voice, he addressed the two officers flanking him.

“There’s only one way to find out if what the lass says is true. Delvin, I’ll need you to open the vault.”

“Wait just a blessed moment, Bryn,” Delvin began, even as he turned to follow Brynjolf to the vault. “What’s in that book? What did it say?”

“It says Mercer’s been stealing from our vault for years. Gallus was looking into it before he was murdered.”

“How could Mercer open up a vault that needs two keys? It’s impossible. Could he pick his way in?” Brynjolf shook his head, brow furrowed. Vex answered for him.

“That door has the best puzzle locks money can buy. There’s no way it can be picked open.”

“He didn’t need to pick the lock.” Karliah’s voice was still quiet, but it carried.

“What’s she on about?” Delvin asked, voicing everyone’s confusion. Brynjolf pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not a mystery he could deal with right now. Frankly, even with the proof that she didn’t kill Elani he didn’t like having Karliah behind him. And most of all what he wanted was to take Elani far from here, rent out a room at an inn in the wilderness, and breathe her in until he forgot what Mercer said, forgot the last few weeks. He pulled himself back to the crisis at hand.

“Use your key on the vault, Delvin. We’ll open it up and find out the truth.” Delvin walked to the door without further protest. Brynjolf wasn’t sure what he wanted to see inside. Karliah couldn’t be telling the truth, but then again Elani’s presence cast a twisted shadow over Mercer’s character.

“I’ve used my key, but the vault’s still locked up tighter than a drum. Now use yours.” Brynjolf walked forward, projecting a calm that he did not feel. He turned the key in the second lock, and pushed the doors open to find –

Nothing. The vault was empty. His brain spun wildly, trying to catch up with his eyes.

“By the Eight! It’s gone, everything’s gone! Get in here, all of you!” He walked forward into the center of the empty vault, open, gaping chests surrounding him.

“The gold, the jewels…it’s all gone.” Strangely, it took Delvin’s confirmation to convince Brynjolf that he wasn’t hallucinating. The vault really was empty. The sound of steel kissing the inside of a scabbard caught his attention.

“That son of a bitch! I’ll kill him!”

“Vex, put it away…right now.” She stared wildly around the room, her grip on the dagger only tightening. “We can’t afford to lose our heads…we need to calm down and focus.” He was saying it to himself as much as anyone else, but the words seemed to work.

“Do what he says, Vex.” Delvin’s voice held a softness to it that only crept in when directed at her. “This ain’t helping right now.”

“Fine,” Vex growled, sheathing her dagger. “We do it your way. For now.”

“Delvin, Vex – watch the Flagon. If you see Mercer, come tell me right away.” They nodded, grave, and walked out of the vault. Karliah followed, sparing a lingering glance at Elani before making herself scarce. Brynjolf stayed facing the entrance for a moment. He could feel the lass’s eyes on his back, but he took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure.

Composure? Who was he kidding. His hands were shaking. He turned and closed the gap between them, pulling the elf close. One hand cupped the back of her neck, the other crossed her back to rest on her hip, he buried his face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder and inhaled. She mirrored him, her hands clutching at his back and her head pressed against his chest as if to listen to his heart. She was trembling.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, letting her familiar scent calm his mind. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t think of her dying in a cave, choking on an arrow and her own blood. For the first time in weeks, the world settled into a pattern that felt right. He needed to find out what she knew, needed to get started on confronting Mercer, but for now he simply tightened the embrace.


End file.
